Last night I struggled through most of the night with a terrible recurring dream. In my dream, I had gone to the house of someone I knew to help them with something. I’m not sure who exactly this person was, only that I knew them.

Once I got to their house I found that they lived in total squalor. The house was dirty and completely unfurnished. There was a heap of blankets on the floor that made up their bed, and only a few dishes in what should have passed for their kitchen. They didn’t have a bathroom. There were no pictures on the eroding walls, nor any other comforts to speak of. I remember being so emotionally hurt that this person that I had known for so long had lived under such conditions without my knowing. I was so ashamed that I would be so out of touch.

The numerous times I came to consciousness during this dream, I’d quickly pray for inspiration and search my recollection to see if this was specific to someone I actually knew, who stood in need of such help. But I could never figure out who it could possibly be, and would drift back to sleep only to have the same dream again.

As I struggled today to make sense of it all, the one thing that stood out above all else is that there are those around us who suffer in silence.

There are so many people who are part of our daily lives, or with whom we make even the most abrupt and unassuming contact with during our day, that hold hurt and pain behind the mask they wear in public. Who struggle against all manner of trials and conflicts, and who are in need of help, love, and support.

I only hope that I might stop being so selfish, remove the blinders before my eyes, and see beyond the façade and into the true heart of those around me. I hope I might not fail to offer that help, love, or support at some critical time.

You just never know when you’re someone’s last remaining emotional supply line.


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